Raven's Strike rd-2

by Patricia Briggs

  “Tell your father, and we’ll work something out,” said Akavith. His craggy features relaxed a bit more, and Lehr felt as if those keen old eyes saw right through him. “Yes,” he said, slapping his thigh. “You and this mare will do.”

  They bargained for a while, and Lehr knew the price they agreed on was far lower than the horse trainer would have gotten from one of those nobles who were looking for a lady’s mount.

  “Don’t fret,” said the horse trainer. “Your brother won’t let me pay him, and these past few years he’s as good as my best boy with the horses. Do you have a saddle and bridle that’ll fit this mare?”

  “No, sir.”

  Akavith put the mare back in the stall and led Lehr to his tack room. As he sorted through bridles, he said, “Had a man in here today from Redern. Told me Olbeck—the steward’s son, do you mind him?”

  Lehr knew Olbeck, but Akavith continued speaking without waiting for an answer.

  “He killed a lad—a merchant’s son, Lukeeth it was.”

  Lukeeth was one of Olbeck’s sycophants, a Rederni merchant’s son. Lehr hadn’t known him well, nor liked what little he knew, but he hadn’t wanted him dead either.

  “Storne Millerson bore witness against him, I heard. If Olbeck’s father weren’t the Sept’s steward, Lukeeth’s father would have demanded his head and gotten it, too. But all he managed was to banish Olbeck from Redern. I imagine it won’t take a month for the steward to have that judgment put aside.” He spat on the floor of the stables. “Makes me glad I don’t live in a town. One of my boys kills another, I take care of it.”

  “If you can’t control your worries, I can do this,” Hennea told Seraph as she sat beside Tier on the floor by the fireplace after they’d all eaten.

  If someone was going to muck about with Tier’s Order, Seraph preferred to do it herself. She knelt beside her husband and shifted until she was as comfortable as she was going to get on the slat floor.

  When she was settled she took a couple of deep breaths and buried her fear and anger deep so that she could control her magic. Emotions made magic unreliable and dangerous.

  “I am fine,” she told Hennea.

  Jes and Rinnie sat on the floor and leaned against a wall where they wouldn’t interfere with anything Seraph had to do.

  “Lie down,” she told Tier, who was sitting up. “And relax.”

  She began by looking. Usually an Order appeared to her like a set of transparent clothes that covered the whole body, though she knew that all Ravens didn’t see the same way. Her teacher Arvage had seen small crowns of woven vines, each Order bloomed with a different color flower. Only the colors were the same for each Raven. She wondered how her old teacher would have seen the damage to Tier’s Order.

  “What do you see when you look at his Order, Hennea?” she asked.

  “Light,” she answered. “With areas of darkness.”

  Seraph touched Tier’s chest lightly, where her magic told her one of the holes was. “I see a break here,” she told Hennea.

  Hennea nodded. “That’s one of the dark patches.”

  “Keep an eye on him,” Seraph asked. “If you see any change at all, let me know.”

  Until this past season, Seraph would never have thought that there was anything that could alter an Order. When she’d been young, she’d tried, and she supposed that she wasn’t the only one. She’d wanted to see if she could change the appearance of her Order so that any Raven who happened by would not automatically know what kind of Order Bearer she was.

  Nothing had worked. Magic had just slid off the surface of the Order without affecting it.

  Magic worked with patterns, she thought, patterns and symbolism.

  Seraph stared at Tier’s Order and pulled her magic to her as if she were spinning yarn at her wheel. She felt it soft and fine, like the best lambswool as it spun itself beneath her fingertips. She saw the Order as clothing, so she’d pattern her magic after that and see if it worked.

  “Tier,” she said. “Tell me if you feel anything—but most especially if something hurts.”

  “I’ll do that.” His wry tone made her smile, as he’d intended it to.

  She set her yarn of magic against his Order, but her fingers sank through to touch his neck.

  “Cold,” said Tier.

  “Very funny,” she muttered, glaring at his uncooperative Order. Pulling her fingers away, she saw the glittering violet of her own Order, and it gave her inspiration. This time she took the end of her yarn with the lightest of touches, so light her fingers did not touch it at all, only the thin veil of Raven Order.

  She laid the thread against Tier, and this time it rested lightly on Bardic Order and, at her will, the thread she’d spun began to take on the texture and green-grey color of the Bardic Order. When she tugged lightly on the yarn, it fell away from Tier. It wouldn’t merge with the Tier’s Order—she’d have to weave it through. Even as she put the yarn back to lie against Tier so that it could all absorb the aspects of his Order, she had an idea of how she might be able to repair the damage.

  She hadn’t darned socks or sweaters for a long time—not since she’d taught Rinnie how. Sewing had never been her favorite part of solsenti life. Travelers darned their clothing as well, but a Raven’s time was too valuable to be taken up in such mundane tasks. For Tier, though, she’d have darned a patch that covered the farm with room to spare.

  When all her yarn was blended with Tier’s Order she pulled it away. From magic she formed a darning egg, visualizing a hard surface rounded just right to turn the edge of her needle away from Tier’s skin.

  Now all that she needed was a darning needle.

  The only thing that had been able to affect Tier’s Order was her own.

  “Hennea,” she said. “Would you sort through the Ordered gems and bring me one of the Lark gems? The tigereye ring, I think.” That was the one that sometimes warmed in her hand when she and Hennea were working with them.

  “You’re going to try and use the gems?” Hennea’s voice was neutral—a good indication of her disapproval.

  Seraph shook her head. “I’m going to see if I can persuade it to help me.”

  She heard Hennea get up, but only peripherally. Most of Seraph’s attention was on what she intended to do. There was no room for doubt when she worked magic. Only utter confidence would make her magic do as she desired.

  Something small and warm was tucked into her cold hand, the ring.

  She’d chosen the Lark, because Healing seemed very close to what she was trying to do.

  Seraph thought through the problem she faced and what she needed several times, curbing her panic and her impatience as best she could. She’d begun on a third time when something sharp pierced the skin on the hand that held the gem. She looked down, and the rust-colored Order that had surrounded the gem had formed itself into the shape of a large needle.

  She thought very hard about how grateful she was as she slipped her yarn into the needle. She set the darning egg beneath the largest of the holes in the fabric of Tier’s Order. She had no idea what would happen if she pierced flesh with her needle, and had no particular desire to find out.

  Carefully taking the needle in her Order-gloved hands, she used her will more than her fingers to set the needle into Tier’s Order, two fingerwidths from the edge of the tear.

  Like a tightly knitted sweater, the threads of Bardic Order slid away from her needle without harm and the egg protected Tier from the sharp point. The ring, which she held loosely between two fingers, passed through Tier’s Order as if neither were affected by the presence of the other. The needle, though, worked as well as she had hoped it might. Carefully, she pulled it back through the weaving of Tier’s Order, stitching all around the hole to strengthen the edge before she began reweaving the fabric of Tier’s Order with her magic.

  Hours passed, but she was absorbed in her work, painstakingly knitting Tier’s Order together again. The familiar task was absorbing, and she did
n’t realize how tired she was until Tier’s voice penetrated her concentration.

  “Seraph, listen to me.”

  “I’m not finished,” she said stubbornly. There were still holes. Small holes that would turn into larger ones. She looked for her yarn, but she couldn’t find any more.

  “Hennea says you can do no more. Seraph, stop.”

  The needle faded away, until she held only a ring. Dazedly, she realized Tier was holding her wrists and shaking her.

  “She’s stopped,” said Hennea, her voice little more than a hoarse mumble.

  “I’ll get them to their beds.”

  That was Lehr. What was he doing back already?

  “Take Mother up,” said Jes. “I’ll get Hennea, then help you with Papa.”

  “I can get myself up,” said Tier.

  Tier. Seraph slid her hand in his loosened grip until she had a hold on his arm.

  “Hennea,” she said. “Can you look?” She was too tired to use any more magic.

  “It’s better,” the other Raven replied. “It won’t hold forever, but it should give us some time. I wouldn’t have thought of using the Orders that way.”

  “You haven’t darned many socks,” replied Seraph. She wondered briefly what her weaving had looked like to Hennea, who saw light rather than fabric. But she couldn’t hold on to the question long enough to ask it. Knowing Tier was better, even if just for now, let her collapse peacefully into the soft darkness of exhaustion.

  Jes waited while Lehr picked up their mother and started up the ladder steps to his parents’ loft. Then he extended his hand to his father, who got to his feet with a groan.

  “Thanks, Jes,” he said. “I was wondering how I was going to do that.” He followed Lehr up the ladder steps, limping heavily.

  Hennea was leaning against the stones of the fireplace—cool now, since there was no fire burning. Her eyes were closed, but he could tell she wasn’t sleeping. Rinnie was, though. There hadn’t been anything to keep her awake, just the heavy scent of magic that still hung thick in the air.

  He left Hennea where she was and scooped up his little sister. As soon as he touched her, he could feel her dreams. She was flying in the night sky, with the land a dark presence far below her, dream-riding the storm winds in body as in reality she did with her mind.

  the Guardian told him, then abruptly withdrew.

  Jes’s hands curled protectively around Rinnie. It bothered him, this knowledge he should not have, that the Guardian should not have. How did he know Cormorants could fly when Rinnie was the only Cormorant they had ever known? But as much as it disturbed him, the Guardian was far more frightened by it. Jes couldn’t think of anything else he’d ever encountered that had frightened the Guardian.

  He carried Rinnie around the makeshift wall he and Lehr had built yesterday and laid her gently on her bed.

  The unearned knowledge was part of the change that was happening, a change that frightened both the Guardian and him. Mother was worried about it, too. He’d always talked to the Guardian, soothing him, easing the constant rage the Guardian lived with. But it wasn’t until they’d caged him with the foundrael that the Guardian had spoken back.

  “She is too young to fly,” Jes muttered softly. “We wouldn’t be able to keep her safe.”

  The Guardian was silent, and Jes couldn’t tell if he was listening, or if he’d closed himself off entirely. The latter was dangerous. When the Guardian emerged from such hibernations, he was gorged with anger, impossible to reason with.

  But there was no answer, so Jes went back to put Hennea to bed. She was in a different position than the one in which he’d left her—she’d tried to get up, he thought.

  Her hair was dark with sweat, and dark circles ringed her eyes. It looked to him as if she’d lost weight, too, as if the power she’d given Mother had come from her own flesh.

  Tenderly, he picked her up into his arms.

  claimed the Guardian.

  “If she chooses,” he told the other firmly, not hiding his relief that the Guardian had not retreated. “Don’t push her away.”

  “Jes?” she murmured.

  “Putting you to bed,” he told her.

 

  Jes felt a wide smile break across his face. “He did.”

  The Guardian shared the sweet scent of her skin with him, so he let the Guardian feel how strongly she desired to rest in their arms, safe.

  He tucked her into her bed, next to Rinnie’s. Like the wall, it was newly made yesterday. She was mostly asleep, and he brushed his hand lightly over her cheek because he could not resist both his desire and the Guardian’s.

  She opened her eyes, pale and unfocused. “Jes,” she said.

  “Yes?”

  “Remind me. Tomorrow. Maps and Colossae. It’s important. For your father.”

  He felt the Guardian swell with… some nameless emotion at the sound of the name of the ancient city.

  “I’ll remind you,” Jes told her as he pushed aside a flashing vision of a city he’d never seen before.

  The strange insights frightened the Guardian. Jes could feel that fear rising up and the anger that burned the fear to ash, rage that Jes swallowed and swallowed until it hurt to breathe.

  “Jes?”

  “We should tell someone,” he muttered quickly. Maybe someone could help us understand what is happening. Help us to prepare. That was it, he thought. The Guardian was afraid of something that was going to happen when he remembered too much. Something bad.

  “Tomorrow. We’ll tell your mother,” murmured Hennea, misunderstanding what he’d said.

  The Guardian had heard him, too. Jes could tell because the other’s towering rage dulled to a sullen burn that he could better tolerate.

  Hennea subsided into sleep. Jes let himself pet her hair once before he left her to rest beside his sister and wandered out to stand in front of the fireplace.

  asked the Guardian long after Jes had expected a response.

  Mother? No, she hurts for us and feels guilty. I don’t want that. Papa? Maybe Lehr. He’s very smart. He deliberately didn’t mention Hennea. If her worry for him was already keeping her away, he didn’t want her to have anything else to worry about.

  the Guardian decided. But Jes could tell that the thought of sharing the change with someone made him feel better.

  CHAPTER 7

  The Guardian appeased for the moment, Jes could payattention to the quiet discussion in his parents’ loft.

  “I thought I’d just ride back to where Benroln left us,” Lehr was saying. “I can track them from there.”

  “There might be an easier way,” Tier said. “Your mother said Willon gave you a map before you set out for Taela.”

  “I’ll get it,” Lehr said.

  “I can get the map,” Jes told him. “I know where Mother put it.”

  Mother had stored it in the chest where Papa kept some souvenirs from the wars. He took it and scrambled up the ladder.

  His mother lay in bed under the covers. Her hair was sweat-darkened, and below her eyes were rings of exhaustion so dark they looked like bruises. Her breathing was shallow, and she made small sounds, like a tired child.

  The Guardian came out to see for himself that she was safe. Jes touched the covers just above her feet and felt her in a sleep so deep she didn’t even dream.

  The Guardian settled down once he was certain every care had been taken for her. Papa sat on his side of the bed and Lehr was cross-legged on the floor; both of them had watched the Guardian and allowed him the time he needed.

  There was enough room for Jes on the narrow space between the foot of the bed and the ladder. He handed Papa the map and settled on the floorboards.

  “Thanks,” said Papa as he took the map and spread it on the bedding in front of him.

  He studied it for a moment, then
tapped his finger. “That’s where we parted company. This is the road Benroln took.” He let his finger slide down the map toward him.

  Jes couldn’t read the map upside down, the lettering was too fancy—but the Guardian could.

  “Edren,” said Papa. “Upsarian. Colbern.” He hesitated, then tapped his finger on the last city he’d mentioned. “Willon took this lower road back here—” He drew his hand along the lowest of three roads that both ran east and west. “It’s a better road for a wagon—there are bridges instead of fords. He passed by Colbern, he said. It’s a town about the size of Leheigh. They’d closed their gates to visitors. Plague.”

  The Guardian, who had been amusing himself by pointing out the inaccuracies in the map to Jes, abruptly came to the alert.

  Papa looked at Lehr. “I’ve been wondering what disaster called to Benroln when there was a shadow-tainted troll here they could have been fighting instead. A plague would do.”

  “Lehr can’t go,” the Guardian growled.

  Lehr’s eyebrows climbed almost to his hairline, but before he could give whatever retort was doubtless on the tip of his tongue, Papa said, “I agree. It’s too dangerous.”

  Lehr clenched his fists. “I’m not a child. I know how to protect myself from plague. I won’t touch anyone. I won’t share food or clothing. Mother said to get Brewydd, and that’s what I’m going to do.” He got to his feet, and the Guardian rose up with him, blocking him in.

  Lehr is right, Jes told him. Father needs Brewydd, and Lehr is not stupid. He knows how to protect himself.

  He received a picture in his head of someone dying. Their face lay in the shadows so he couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman, but he could feel the Guardian’s consuming grief.

  Brewydd will be there, he reminded him.

  “Jes?” His father’s quiet voice penetrated the internal argument.